


Photographic Memory

by leiascully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Gen, Pictures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 05:50:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12624594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: Bill finds a photograph in Scully's pocket.





	Photographic Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: S3ish  
> A/N: For a tumblr anon.  
> Disclaimer: _The X-Files_ and all related characters are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Studios. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

She had a photo of the two of them in the pocket of her coat. She didn’t even remember when she’d taken it from the piles of evidence photos. The only thing it was evidence of was their partnership. In the photo, Mulder was kneeling, his coat spread around him like a cape, pointing at something, and his face was raised to hers. Despite the slight blurriness of the photo, the light in his eyes shone through clearly: that mix of hope, passion, and wry acceptance of her skepticism. Her arms were crossed in the photograph, her eyebrow skeptical, but the faintest of smiles curled the edges of her lips. Mulder and Scully, on the trail of something wicked, another bump in the night, another whisper at the edge of the campfire.

Bill found it when he went to move her car. It was Thanksgiving and the weather had gotten bad. Sleet slanted down, tapping against the windows. 

“We can’t fit all the cars in the garage,” Bill said (of course they couldn’t, and Scully accepted that her mother’s car and Tara’s delicacy took precedence). “Let me put you under the eaves, though.”

It was easier to let him do it than to insist on her own proficiency with her vehicle, and besides, she had a glass of wine in her hand and a blanket tucked just right around her knees. Her father had always been the one to move the cars before. She understood Bill’s need to keep the tradition alive. But she’d forgotten about the photograph. It had been in her pocket long enough to that the paper was soft and creased, the glossy surface etched with scratches. Bill flourished it at her, but the paper just flopped.

“Who’s this?” He had to know, and everyone in the room knew it. There were no mysteries about her life except why she had chosen it. 

“My partner, Mulder,” she said, taking a fortifying swallow of her wine. Her mother patted her knee.

“Why do you keep it in your pocket?” He glanced at the photograph with disgust. 

“I don’t know, Bill, things just end up there,” she said. “Fish around enough, you’ll probably find an evidence bag and a latex glove. Maybe even some ectoplasm or a runestone.”

“Dana, this is ridiculous,” he said.

“Thank you so much for going out in this awful weather, Bill,” Mrs. Scully said firmly. “Dana appreciates it very much, don’t you, Dana?”

“Of course,” she said, lifting her glass again. “Thank you.”

He shoved the corner of the photograph back in her pocket under the watchful eyes of the Scully women. It fell to the floor, but she’d pick it up later, as she girded herself to go out into the ice-glossy world and scrape her windshield clean. Or maybe she’d spend the night here on the couch, the photograph tucked under the pillow where Bill couldn’t find it, and her dreams would be filled with strange and wondrous lights.

“Tell Fox hello,” Mrs. Scully said when Bill had shrugged on his coat and gone outside. “He’s always welcome here, you know.”

“I will,” Scully said, and leaned against her mother.


End file.
